


The Nature of Pranksters

by lucianwolf (lucian)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masochism, Other, Sadism, Threesome - M/M/M, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-16
Updated: 2009-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:53:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucian/pseuds/lucianwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has an unexpected insight into the nature of pranksters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nature of Pranksters

Harry is gesturing at George with his chopsticks when Fred waltzes up, steals his takeaway box, and shoves an empty one into Harry's hand before vanishing around a display. George smirks and Harry rolls his eyes, suppressing a smile. He won't admit it, but this is exactly why he always gets Chinese when it's his turn to buy lunch. He ducks into the kitchen and snatches the last box of takeout, slipping back onto the sales floor just in time to see a child rip open a box of Ton-Tongue Toffees and cram one in his mouth.

Chaos erupts. The child howls as his tongue swells and slithers to the floor; his mother yelps frantically, blaming the other children for being such a bad influence and "terrorising my baby boy with one of those nasty tricks!" The shop full of children roar with laughter.

"Turn him back! Turn him back right now!" the mother demands, shoving the wide-eyed, whimpering boy toward Fred and George who are leaning lazily against the front counter. Their eyes are glittering darkly.

Fred plucks the opened box of toffee from the boy's hand as George explains to the distraught mother, in sickly sweet tones, that the boy is quite fine and the effects should wear off in a few hours' time. He smiles wickedly. "Though perhaps this will teach young Master the value of discretion when indulging in petty thievery."

Fred tosses the rest of the box of Ton-Tongue Toffees out over the crowd of cheering children as the glaring mother manoeuvres her son and arms full of tongue out the door. There's only a moment for George's smoky laughter to curl around Harry's spine before Fred cries out, "Oi, George!" and their eyes are back to bright; two sets of chopsticks are in Harry's takeaway box before he can finish his last thought. His protest is little more than a startled yelp as food flies out of his box and Harry has no idea how they can hold a machine-gun-fast barrage-of-words conversation and eat all of his food at the same time.

 

* * * * *

 

Harry pops open a lager, grabs the leftover rice from lunch (it always comes with, but they never eat it), and flops down on the couch as he turns on the telly.

It wasn't the dark laughter or the sly smirking or the way their matching eyes glittered with a malicious joy Harry had never seen. It wasn't the way they watched the boy howl with unfettered, unnerving intensity or how Fred's unsympathetic tone curled wickedly, _possessively_, around compassionate words in a way that made Harry's mouth dry.

It's what those half-dozen individually insignificant differences mean about the twins that make his heart falter.

It's a suffocating rush as his perceptions suddenly shift out from under him: the Ton-Tongue Toffees aren't funny, and neither are the Canary Creams, potion-spraying boutonnières, Edible Dark Marks, exploding gum, Fainting Fancies, disappearing-ink quills (great for Potions homework!), Fever Fudge, Nosebleed Nougats, Punching Telescopes, trick wands, Puking Pastilles, and charmed-to-move fake snakes, rats, and spiders (and doesn't Ron love _that_ one). _Every damn one of them_ are just mean tricks for sadistic little bastards to play on their friends, and remembering the way the boy's eyes widened impossibly as his tongue poured out of his mouth, his keening wail complemented by his mother's panicked cry, Harry is suddenly not sure what kind of person would take pleasure in that.

Reconciling the boys who risked their lives in the Order of the Phoenix with the men who make a living selling victimising pranks is making Harry's head hurt, and it's only half due to the alcohol. He bins the empty bottle and goes to bed. Maybe this will all make sense in the morning.

 

* * * * *

 

He's about to stretch out on the couch with a lager and the book he picked up this morning when he realises that the book is still _at_ the shop. He rolls his eyes, throws on his shoes, and apparates to Hogsmeade.

He doesn't want to disturb Fred and George, so he is quiet as he lets himself into the darkened shop. He pads silently between the displays and into the office where his book is resting cheekily on the desk; he shrinks it and is putting it into his pocket as a loud crash echoes through the shop. Old habits die hard: he flattens himself against the wall and draws his wand. It can't be an intruder - that would have tripped the wards - but neither Fred nor George have called down to see what the noise was. Maybe it was just an unbalanced display collapsing.

A voice growls out of the darkness. "Now I know _exactly_ where you are. Is your heart pounding?"

Harry's eyes go wide. That was _Fred._ Did he know Harry was here? It wouldn't matter though; they gave him a key to the shop on the day he left school. And _he_ didn't knock anything over, so who is Fred talking to? _Is_ there an intruder?

And yes, his heart _is_ pounding.

Almost silent footsteps fly past him and he's gripping his wand hard enough to break. It's been a long time since he's been afraid. He's startled to find that it's rather invigorating when he isn't facing certain death.

There are several crashes, a loud thump and a cry, and Harry's senses are sharp as spikes.

"Now that I've caught you," Fred purrs, his voice only a few feet away, "whatever should I do with you?"  
A moan, a gasp, another cry; the sharp-rough sounds of a struggle.  
"Oh god, Fred - _fuck me!"_

Harry is confused for a moment before his eyes widen impossibly. _That_ voice belonged to _George._

"Why on earth would I want to do that?" Fred asks slyly, knowingly, seductively.  
"You fucking _cocktease!"_ George cries. "Because we haven't fucked in _days,_ because you want it as much as I do - oh _god!"_ Fred lets out a low laugh as a wet, rhythmic sound begins.

Harry's breath catches in his throat. Fred and George are _ fucking._

It's only a moment before everything clicks into place: he realises why they never date, why they're so laid back, why long hours never bother them. He expects that he's supposed to be disgusted or distraught or at _least_ disoriented, but after last week's realisation that being a good man and a sadist are not mutually exclusive, he can't seem to remember why brothers aren't supposed to fuck.

He shakes his head and puts his wand away. He can't get back to the door without being seen and he can't apparate soundlessly and _bloody fucking hell_ \- when did he get _hard?_ Cheeks burning, he adjusts himself and tries very hard not to listen, but he won't hear them moving if he plugs his ears and he really doesn't want to have to explain why he didn't let them know he was here before they started.

He leans against the wall and waits, rock hard and uncertain as to why he's embarrassed. He stops trying not to listen, not that it was doing any good anyway.

"Please, Fred!" George cries desperately. "Please, I'm so _close_ \- "  
"Come for me, George," Fred demands, and George screams.

Harry's breathing is ragged. Merlin, he just heard George _come._ It was only an accident that his hand just brushed his cock.

"You ready, George?" Fred asks after a moment, his voice low and needy.  
"How do you want me?" George whispers.  
Fred's low laugh makes Harry's heart flutter. "Scream for me, Georgie. Beg me to stop."

George lets out a scream that makes Harry's blood run cold. "Stop!_ Please!_ Oh god, _don't!_ No, please, _please, **please!**_ I'll do _anything! Please stop!** Please don't do this to me!"**_

If Harry didn't know better, he really would think that something terrible was happening just out of sight. He nearly moves to make sure, but he heard Fred _ask_ and George _offer_ and it's absolutely insane and terrifying and his heart is trying to claw out of his chest and why does his cock still think this is _hot?_

Harry waits, confused and afraid and aroused and even more confused because of the arousal, but it doesn't last much longer: one final, broken wail of _"Please!"_ and Fred lets out a ragged cry.

It's several minutes of murmuring and quiet laughter before they go upstairs and Harry can finally slip outside. He apparates home, chucks the book in the fireplace (he'll never be able to look at it without thinking of scandalous, voyeuristic, _confusing-as-all-hell_ sex), and goes straight to bed.

 

* * * * *

 

Harry wakes up tangled in the sheets: gasping for breath, trembling, and exhausted. He's sweaty and tense and he can't remember exactly what happened in his dream, but he'd been afraid and in pain and Fred and George had been whispering awful, terrible, heart-stopping things and his hand is flying over his erection and he's deliberately drowning in the nightmare-memories and coming harder than he ever has in his life.

He stares defiantly at the ceiling as he slowly comes back down: he desperately does not want to deal with why he just got off on a nightmare or why Fred and George played a starring role. He stalks to the kitchen, tosses a shot of whiskey in his morning tea (he _cannot_ show up at the shop still tense; Fred and George are ruthless when they smell a secret), and downs it before jumping in the shower.

This is not going to be a good day.

 

* * * * *

 

Christmas week is hell: late hours spent brewing potions and re-stocking shelves and gift-wrapping owl-orders mean there just aren't enough hours in the day for Harry to waste time running back and forth to his flat. Too tired to apparate home, especially since he'd have to be right back here in four hours anyway, he'd put a cushioning charm on a couple of boxes in the far corner of the stockroom and passed out under his cloak.

The sound of the stockroom door closing explains why he's awake: he just hasn't slept that well since the Last Battle. Harry yawns and rolls over. The alarm is set for five minutes to eight and he's _not_ getting up until then.

"You sure we have time?" George asks.  
"Harry's exhausted. He's not going to show up 'til we unlock the doors."  
"That only leaves us twenty minutes. I don't think you can make me come that fast." Harry can hear the devilish smirk on George's face.  
"I can make you come in half that," Fred counters dismissively.  
"Try it, _big boy_." Harry rolls his eyes.  
Fred's voice turns low and sultry. "He's naked on the bed, on his knees, gagged and crying."  
"You bloody _cheater!"_  
"I don't remember agreeing to any rules."  
"Fuck you!"  
"That's the plan."  
"Shut up and talk."

Fred laughs, low and dark, and Harry's heart speeds up.

"His pretty little lips are red and swollen around the gag," Fred murmurs. "Those big, innocent eyes are wet and wide and he's afraid - he's trying to get away, but his wrists are tied to his ankles and he just ... can't ... _move."_ George groans and Harry doesn't think any of this should be arousing, but it's a bit late for that.  
"He cries around your cock, those brilliant eyes begging you to stop, but you shove him on his back instead and the ropes force his legs wide open, just for you - that sweet little ass on display _just for you - "_  
"Oh god, Fred - faster!" The rhythmic, whisper-soft sound speeds up and George moans.  
"He screams behind that gag, those pretty green eyes flooding as you fuck his tight, grasping, _desperate_ ass - "  
"Oh god - _Harry!"_ George cries, and Harry's hand freezes on his cock as Fred lets out a shuddering groan. The room is suddenly cold and spinning wildly.

There is a pause as Fred and George catch their breath and Harry tries to put his world back together.

"Seven minutes to spare."  
"Oh, fuck you!"  
"Next time. _Definitely_ next time. Wild horses and all that."

A whispered _Scourgify_ and Harry hears soft footfalls.

"I wish we could tell him," George murmurs.  
"He'd never understand."  
A soft breath. "I know."

The door to the storeroom closes and somehow the world is even louder in the silence.

Fred and George want to fuck him. They want to _fuck _him and _hurt_ him and they talk about hurting him when_ they're_ fucking. He imagines those identically cruel eyes above him, smiling wickedly as they touch him and hurt him; laughing as they whisper violent, sweet, brutal things that make his heart pound with fear and want and _ need_ and Harry shoves his fist against his mouth to muffle the sound as he comes.

Harry's almost asleep again when he suddenly knows how Fred and George can be utterly, perfectly cruel and dark and brutal without being concerned about him in the least. Harry smiles wickedly.

 

* * * * *

 

Christmas is over, the shop is closed, and Harry is curled up on the couch, basking in the warmth of the fireplace. Fred and George are discussing their plans for the next two weeks, which, by the sound of it, will be two weeks spent entirely in bed.

Harry smiles. He knows from experience that the first three days will be exactly that, and every day after will be spent locked upstairs with utter boredom being the inspiration for next year's brilliant product line.

George opens the bottle of port Harry brought and fills their glasses. Harry lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"To Harry!"  
"Who made us rich!"  
"And famous!"  
"Or thereabouts."  
"We got several orders from the Continent this year; I'd say that's famous."  
"Quite right, brother. To Harry!"

Harry blushes and raises his glass as Fred and George drain theirs. He's almost trembling with anticipation.

Fred and George begin to discuss expanding their marketing outside of Britain, but it doesn't take long for their voices to fall silent. Harry's heart begins to pound.

Fred moves with the contained violence of a wildcat as he makes his way over to Harry and straddles him, pinning his wrists above his head. Harry whimpers.

"Shh, Harry," Fred purrs, amusement thick in the sound. "Don't want the _Aurors_ to come running."

"Get off, Fred!" Harry snaps, his voice thick with feigned irritation.

Fred laughs, the sound low and dark and wicked. "I most certainly plan to."

Harry pulls sharply against Fred's iron grip and Fred clamps down hard enough to make Harry cry out in pain. "George! Tell your brother to knock it off!"

George drapes a leg over the side of the armchair, his languid lounging in sharp contrast to the intensity of his eyes. "I don't think so, Harry. I do believe I'll watch."

"I do believe you'll join us," Fred purrs, rubbing his nose against Harry's.

"Leave off! I'm tired," Harry pretends to protest. Fred slides a hand around Harry's slender throat and presses their lips together.

"Fred! I don't want to do this. _Get off,_" Harry growls: his eyes wide, his breath quick. Fred presses his fingers into the arteries on either side of Harry's neck and inhales sharply as Harry starts to thrash. This hurts a hell of a lot more than he had imagined. "You're hurting me!" Harry rasps out, his breath rough but steady, jerking hard against Fred's steel grip. "Fred - " and the struggling stops as his eyes roll back in his head.

Harry wakes with his face buried in a soft blanket, his body slightly chilled. The memories come back to him in a rush, and his heart tries to slam out of his chest. That was far more painful (and terrifying) than he had expected, but wasn't that exactly what he'd been dreaming about? Being absolutely helpless before that carefully-controlled cruelty? He lets out a trembling breath as strong hands grip his hips and drag him up onto his knees.

"Little Harry's already hard," Fred murmurs, tugging on Harry's cock, and George lets out a darkly delighted sound as he pins Harry's wrists to the mattress. Harry cries out as he feels slick fingers circling his anus. He takes a ragged breath, pulling together the will to keep protesting when all he wants to do is roll onto his back and spread his legs.

"Fred, stop it! I don't want to do this! Stop it! _Stop it! Let me go!"_ Something blunt and thick presses against his entrance just for a moment before he's filled in one quick thrust. Harry screams.

"Stop! _Stop!_ Fred, _please!_ It hurts! Stop, please _stop! Please!"_ Harry's voice cracks as he cries out; he had no idea how completely whole and utterly perfect he would feel on his knees. Fred's fingers dig bruises into his hips as he thrusts violently.

"I trusted you!" he chokes out and he means it: Fred and George are ruthless, brutal, all-consuming - exactly as he dreamed they would be - and he is utterly helpless in their hands.

"Had you asked, we would have told you not to," George murmurs, his voice kind as he grips Harry's jaw hard enough to bruise and forces him upright. Harry desperately braces his hands against George's chest and blinks back threatening tears until he can see the slightly out-of-focus face before him: George's eyes are hard as stone. Harry's heart flutters.

George traces his thumb along Harry's lips and Harry cannot help but tremble. "Bite me and I'll blind you, boy," he murmurs in a silk-steel voice. "I will dig your mother's precious green eyes out with my fingers and I will make you _lick them clean."_

Harry's eyes are huge. If George says one more word he's going to come.

George pulls back suddenly and Harry falls, catching himself on his hands, his breath fast and panicked. "Please - " he whimpers, and both Fred and George fill him at the same moment. Harry has only a moment to savour the hardness on his tongue before it's so far down his throat that he gags, his body jerking as he dry-heaves around it. He tries to pull away but George is holding him in place: he can't breathe and he's screaming in the back of his throat and clawing desperately at the sheets. His vision begins to grey just before George pulls back fractionally and Harry sucks in aching breaths around George's thick cock.

He is gasping and panicked and absolutely helpless and every fibre of his being screams out for more. George shoves forward and the process starts again.

Harry is almost unconscious when Fred grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls upward; Harry gasps in air and howls, hands scrabbling uselessly at his scalp. George slides his feet between Fred's knees, slithering down until Harry is straddling his hips.

"Please," Harry whimpers, throat raw, tears of gratitude and desire streaming down his face. He can barely form words any more, much less keep up the unwilling act.

George reaches up to cup Harry's face in his hands, his thumbs stroking along still-wet cheeks. "You've been such a good boy, Harry," George says, so softly and gently that Harry thinks his heart might stop. Fred slides out of him and Harry lets out a broken sound; George smiles sympathetically. Fred presses Harry down, pinning him against George's chest, and slides two wet fingers inside Harry as George thrusts into him.

Harry cries out as stars explode behind his eyes.

Fred adds fingers faster than Harry can adjust, and though he's desperately willing himself to relax with every breath, he can't keep up. He howls through gritted teeth as the fourth of Fred's fingers push into him; Fred and George are bigger than he had prepared for and the pain is overwhelming. There is absolutely nothing he can do: after all, isn't this brutality exactly what he wanted? Didn't he dream about Fred and George destroying him with their hands, their lips, their laughter; with all-consuming, obliviating _ pain?_

Harry barely has time to register the loss of Fred's fingers before Fred grips Harry's hips hard enough to bruise and shoves his entire length inside. Harry digs his fingers into George's arms and shrieks, lungful after lungful of air exploding with glass-shattering sound.

Harry's screaming slowly fades into helpless sobbing as Fred and George thrust into him; exhausted, he drops his head against George's wet chest, whimpering with every breath. The pain is only just starting to subside.

Fred pulls Harry up gently: one arm around his waist, one hand across his throat. Harry cries out as the cocks inside him shift.

George slicks his hand and wraps his fingers around Harry's softened cock, running from base to tip and back again as his other hand traces circles around Harry's nipples. Harry's cock fills rapidly and George speeds his hand. Harry thrashes as he keens. "No reason to fight, Harry," George whispers, his thumb running circles around the crown of Harry's hard length, and those soft words are all Harry needs to finally let go.

"Scream for us, Harry," Fred whispers, and Harry howls as he explodes into George's hand. Crushed between the two most terrifying, mystifying, _amazing_ men he's ever known, Harry's world fades to darkness.

 

* * * * *

 

Harry wakes suddenly. There's not enough time for the well-fucked fog to lift before he hears raised voices from the other room.

"We can always Obliviate him!" Fred protests.  
"We can take the punishment for being _sick fucks_ who would do this to our _dearest friend._ We _deserve_ Azkaban!"  
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Fred says, his voice tight.  
"We fucking _raped_ him!" George snarls, and the memories crash into Harry's skull. "We _raped_ him and he _screamed_ and the human body isn't supposed to be able to take _that much_ without practise and he was _screaming,_ Fred! Of _course_ it's going to come to that!"  
"Let me think!" Fred yells and Harry is frantically trying to untangle himself from the blankets.  
"We _hurt_ him," George continues. "We hurt _Harry._ I thought we loved him, Fred. I thought we _loved_ him. Who _the fuck_ does this to someone they _love?"_

_I thought we loved him._ The world spins wildly and Harry is on the floor, gasping in great breaths as the reality of the situation crashes into him.

"We couldn't have _possibly_ lost control - not that _much,_ not _both_ of us, not at the same _time!_"  
"But we did, Fred! We _did!_ We had a pleasant, lust-fogged dinner followed by _brutally raping our dearest friend!"_  
"We wouldn't _do_ that! We're not _like_ that!"  
"We _are_ like that, Fred!" George's voice fades to a whisper. "We _are._"

"You didn't rape me!" Harry screams from his place on the floor, too dizzy to rise; helpless and desperate. Fred and George are beside him instantly and Fred reaches a trembling hand toward him for just a moment before it falls.

"This wasn't what I meant _at all!_ Fred, George, I'm so sorry!"  
"Harry?" Fred asks, still not touching him, and Harry looks at him with brimming eyes.  
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry -"  
"Harry." Fred hesitantly takes Harry's chin and looks into his eyes and Harry cannot believe what he's done. "Harry, what happened?"

"I saw you! I saw you when the little boy stole that toffee and you _looked_ at each other and you _laughed _and it took my breath away - I heard you in the shop when I went back for my book and I heard you screaming and begging and I _liked_ it! I heard you in the stockroom and you bet him - you _bet_ him and you _talked _about me and it was awful and beautiful and incredible and I _wanted_ you like that, the way you are when you're alone, the way you are when you aren't hiding! It wasn't supposed to be like this! _You didn't rape me!"_

George has slid to his knees in front of Harry, his eyes sharp and uncertain. His voice is cold. "Explain again."

"I'm so sorry, George! I didn't mean - I meant to - I wanted it to be good, the way you like it - "

"Harry," George growls. "What did you _do?"_

Harry sucks in breaths that are coming too quickly and tries to get his thoughts in logical order. "I adjusted the Daydream Charms," he whispers. "I looked - I looked over your research logs and I adjusted the potion so that you would actually _act out_ the daydream and you wouldn't notice your inhibitions slipping away and I put it in the port and _I don't think I thought this through!"_

Fred's eyes are hard and guarded. "If you knew we wanted you, why didn't you just tell us?"

"I heard the things you say - when you're fucking," Harry says, small and ashamed. "It's brutal and full of pain and fear and I thought that if you knew I wanted it, you wouldn't enjoy it as much. I wanted to see you brutal like that - you're in my _dreams_ like that! Dark and mean and violent and I didn't want you to be soft or considerate and ... and because willing isn't what _you_ fantasise about! And because I see how much control you have - you're Snape-like in your control! You were never going to say anything; I _heard_ you!" Harry takes a deliberately slow breath. "And I thought maybe, for once, you'd enjoy a chance to just lose control without concern for consequence or my feelings or anything else."

"You took away our choice." It takes a moment for Harry to understand the ramifications of Fred's words. Oh, god - sex without choice was ... _rape. He_ raped _them._ Harry has no warning before he throws up.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please, I didn't mean to! I am _so sorry!"_ Tears spill down Harry's face. He wants to cling to them but he doesn't dare touch them. He has no idea how to make this right.

Fred and George stand up and walk away. Harry curls up on the floor and cries as his world falls apart.

He is stunned when George kneels beside him, tips up his face, and brushes a cool cloth across his lips. Fred wraps a blanket around him and George pulls them close. Harry lets out a broken sound of gratitude.

"You meant well, Harry," George murmurs.  
Fred rests his head against Harry's. "We know you did."  
"It was a brilliant idea."  
"Bloody genius, in fact."  
"And we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves."  
"Quite right, brother."  
"And while it might have been nice to choose - "  
Fred tips Harry's face up, his eyes glittering darkly. George's smile is violent.  
"We would have done the same thing anyway."

**Author's Note:**

> After all these years, I'm finally making an admission: I barely squeaked in on the deadline for the challenge I originally wrote this for, and I have always hated the ending. For a long time I left it alone, believing that since JKR can't fix hers, I should suck it up and leave mine alone. 
> 
> Fuck it. I want to fix the ending. 
> 
> So, the second to last line is new, but I believe it wraps everything up in a way that is FAR more in line with the point I was making. I don't know why I went and schmooped; I think I was trying to (heavy-handedly) make the point that they weren't really evil.


End file.
